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Kate is trapped.
Her spine presses hard into the stack of crates between the bench and the brick wall, and with the deadweight of Billie leaning against her chest, she’s stuck. That girl struggles with her drinking enough as it is, but after yesterday morning—seeing Gigi hanging like that—she’s been obliterated.
All last night, Kate stayed with Billie. They slept off the grief, slept through the tears. Together.
But today, it’s a numb state they’re in. Billie more than Kate, from all that poison she drinks from the water bottle, mixed with seeing Gigi like that, and not to mentionwhatever the fuckwas going on between Billie and Preston.
She’s been passed out on Kate for the better part of an hour now.
Kate keeps her arm looped around Billie’s waist to lock her in place, stop her from slipping to the side and crashing to the brick ground.
Out here, in the not-yet-finished patio behind the Joint, everything is brick. The ground, the walls, the rundown grill that gets more use from the rats who live in it than the actual cooks who’ve long abandoned it.
Planted on the other side of the picnic table, Carmine and Grace share a bowl of fries. But it’s a bowl that’s stayed full since Jim brought it out twenty minutes ago.
They haven’t so much as picked at the fries yet.
The beers, on the other hand, are ready for a refill. All four of them. Carmine might have helped herself to Billie’s untouched beer (on the house from Jim) since she hasn’t even stirred in her sleep yet.
The group of four is silent, except of course the light snores coming from the passed-out blonde. But the silence is broken when Grace climbs out from the bench and mumbles, “I’ll get another round.”
“Go to Jim,” Carmine says. “He won’t charge us. Oh, and get a vodka or something for her,” she adds, gesturing with a lift of her slender hand to Billie. “She’s not big on beer.”
“A burger, too.” Kate calls out as Grace maneuvers around the stacks of crates full of empty bottles and broken plates, since Jim just uses the patio as more of a storage spot than anything. “Billie hasn’t eaten.”
Carmine watches Grace leave until she’s inside the bar and the door is shut behind her. “I can’t believe she did it.” Her weary gaze swerves to Kate. “Why would she do that to herself?”
Kate’s mouth turns down. She shrugs slightly, as much as she can while pinned to crates by Billie’s deadweight. “Couldn’t live with it anymore?”
“She lived with it for seven years,” Carmine argues, leaning over the table. “Then, what, Cletus dies and that breaks her? Wouldn’t she behappyabout that?”
“Relieved, maybe,” Kate sighs. “But it… it dug up something she kept buried. Not just… not just what we did to Henry,” she adds in a whisper, “but then watching what Billie and I did to his body,andthen,” she shakes her head, “what she did with Cletus for payment. She snapped.”
“She was the weakest.” The raspy grumble comes from the deadweight sprawled out over Kate. Billie lifts her heavy hands and balls them up to rub her tired eyes. Her voice is a croak, “She was the weakest of us all—she took a way out.”
Carmine flattens her mouth into something disappointed. She watches as Billie turns onto her side, still laying on Kate.
“Don’t say that,” Carmine hushes. “It’s awful.”
“Truth hurts,” Kate says pointedly. “Gigi is—was—our friend, and we loved her. But think about it. She must’ve known what she was planning when we were all at the vigil. She lied about needing to pick up stuff from home, so she didn’t have to drive with us to Grace’s. She lied about meeting us at the sleepover, and instead she went home and hung herself right in the foyer… right where her sister would find her.That’sawful. It's selfish, is what it is. Selfish… and planned.”
Billie’s sight is blurred from her deep sleep, but she sees Carmine well enough to pick up on her soft signs of anger. Carmine picks at her fingernails and turns her cheek to them.
After a beat, she pushes up and says, “I’ll help Grace with the drinks.”
She leaves.
And the moment she does, Billie reaches for Kate’s hand. “Don’t die,” she whispers. “Don’t die, Kate.”
Kate drops her head to plant a kiss on Billie’s crown. She smiles into her hair. “You and I? We’re not the type to rope ourselves.”
Shaking her head, Billie pushes to sit upright and turns her weathered face to her. “She didn’t do it to herself.”
Kate blinks. Her smile fades. “Of course she did. She hung—”
“No.” Billie runs her hands down her face. “Her feet… I couldn’t stop staring at them. They were blue… and there were these…” She gestures with her hands, poorly, sloppily, “like, scratchmarksbut notscratches. Like if I was to dig my nails into your skin, it would leave marks. Gigi’s… were deep and bloody and torn open… and so precise, you know? And the bruises around her ankles… I mean, that’s so obvious! I can’t believe I didn’t think it sooner… It makes sense, now.”
Kate’s voice is soft with concern. “What are you saying, Billie?”
